


the middle (just be yourself)

by venaa



Category: Monsterkind (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Friendship, Gen, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venaa/pseuds/venaa
Summary: When you get older, your body still doesn’t produce any noticeable curves. Others’ reactions tell you that you should be disappointed, but you’re not. You learn the word "androgynous" in fifth grade and adopt it as your next label. You use it to explain why you don’t wear dresses anymore. See, now that your parents have decided that you're old enough to make the decision to wear boyish clothes, you'll certainly take advantage of that. They won’t let you cut your hair short—but this is a start.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (title is the song "The Middle" and its lyrics from Jimmy Eat World)
> 
> This something short I whipped up for Coming Out Day. We don't know much of Louise's background as of now, but I wanted to show a (mostly) positive interpretation of their experiences. 
> 
> **This is dedicated to the awesome nonbinary/trans folks out there; whether you're out our not, celebrate who you are!**

You can’t ever remember feeling particularly feminine.

 

Your parents bought you dresses and skirts, and you always wore them. It would be a waste not to. Any special events, like weddings, always warranted a dress and a nice hairdo. Your hair is long and beautiful, and it looks good. The dresses look nice on you, but they look even better on the hanger—that’s what you think, anyway. You don’t have any desire to wear something cute and girly, but you don’t hate anything like that either; you just tolerate it.

 

Tomboy is the term your parents use when you pick out board shorts and loose tank tops at the store. You kinda like that, so you hold onto it as a tell-all label to explain your choices to people.

 

When you get older, your body still doesn’t produce any noticeable curves. Others’ reactions tell you that you should be disappointed, but you’re not. You learn the word _androgynous_ in fifth grade and adopt it as your next label. You use it to explain why you don’t wear dresses anymore. See, now that your parents have decided that you're old enough to make the decision to wear boyish clothes, you'll certainly take advantage of that. They won’t let you cut your hair short—but this is a start.

 

A few years later, after some thorough internet research, you learn that you don’t have to be a girl. You don’t have to be a boy, either. You don’t have to be anything. You’re just Louise.

 

Though you were never too troubled over this mental confusion, the knot that loosens in your chest is enough to make you cry a little.

 

You’re not just weird.

 

You want to tell everyone about your new revelations, but not everyone is so understanding. It’s easier to dress to your comforts and go by _she_. Using feminine pronouns doesn’t bother you that much, anyway; it’s just an itch in the back of your head that wrinkles its nose at every other _she_ or _her._

 

It’s not fun, but it’s easily bearable. 

 

You don’t consider telling anyone close to you until Charlie questions your clothing habits, since you haven’t worn any dresses to school dances and it seems “curious.”

 

“I just, I don’t feel like they fit me," you confess to him. 

 

“You’d look good in gowns.”

 

“I… Maybe. But I don’t want to.”

 

“Why not?”

 

"I feel like they don't belong on me." You hesitate. Your heart beats a little faster. “Do...Do you know what nonbinary means?”

 

He shakes his head, so you attempt to explain around stutters. It’s a new concept for him, but he just nods along to your explanation, and his ultimate response is, “Makes sense. So you want me to refer to you as ‘they’ now?”

 

You nod.

 

“Cool.”

 

Charlie looks completely nonplussed, but your grin is incredibly wide.

 

It’s this success that gives you the confidence to tell Molly. This time around is a little harder, because you can’t measure out her reaction for sure. You’ve practically lived with Charlie for years and know the kid’s mind. Sure, maybe Molly has been your best friend for two years, but even residing in the closet for all this time, you’ve learned that one can never know another’s true intentions.

 

Still. Molly has never been anything but kind. She’s smart. Open-minded?

 

You come up with a mental list of pros and cons of coming out to Molly; the list of pros is three times the length of the cons. That settles it.

 

You rehearse a mental speech. You’ve never been good with formalities, nor speeches. You throw the speech out. You construct casual statements instead and innocent questions that can lead to probing.

 

In the end, you just make a joke.

 

You don’t even remember what it was. It was something stupid, probably, about how nonexistent your gender was; all you know is that your jitters and loose lips worked against you, and somehow, you couldn’t help but comment. Then you went stiff with nausea and anxiety, because that was not how it was supposed to go.

 

To Molly’s eternal credit, she takes it in stride and doesn’t seem to notice how tense you’ve suddenly become. “Ha! So, you’re like, agender?”

 

You’re too giddy about the fact that she actually _knows_ the word to do anything but nod. Anyway, you’re so out of breath that you couldn’t speak if you wanted to.

 

“Nice.” Suddenly she covers her mouth with a huge hand. “ _Oh_. Oh goodness—do you even go by _she_? Have I been offending you? Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

 

“I-It’s fine,” you cut her off with an awkward smile. Molly’s overly concerned expression is overwhelming and refreshing at the same time. “Just… _they_ from now on.”

 

You’re not out to anybody else except the two, so only Charlie will know the significance of the next time Molly refers to you as _they._ It’s still satisfying.

 

The satisfaction, the pride, the confidence—it all encourages you to take the next step forward. Third time’s the charm, anyway.

 

You’ll do it right. You’ll calmly state and explain your identity, and you’ll stay composed if it all goes wrong. You’ll _definitely_ stop your hands from shaking before you start.

 

“Okay?” Molly’s smile soothes some of the rolling in your stomach.

 

You lick your lips, still. “Just a bit nervous.”

 

“I know he seems like a cold guy, but he’ll understand. Trust me.”

 

Their dry sense of humor is a lot of what makes you and Kip friends, but you’re not looking forward to facing it now. You’ve been friends with him for most of the school year; now it’s time to put him to the test to determine if his company is worth keeping.

 

You and Molly approach him in the hall after school, like any other day. The time is strategic, because it gives Kip ample time to react, and it gives you ample time to get away if Kip’s reaction is a bad one.

 

You wipe your sweat palms on your jeans. “Hey. I need to tell you something.” It’s best to be straightforward.

 

Your serious tone captures his interest. “Yeah?”

 

Don’t stutter. Don’t stutter. “So, I don’t tell many people about this, because it’s kind of—kind of—private, I guess, but mostly because people don’t uh, understand it, but…”

 

Molly gives you an encouraging smile even though you’re totally blowing it. Your face feels hot, and you avoid looking directly at Kip’s eyes.

 

“I never really felt like—um, indentified as?—a girl. But it’s not because I feel like I boy. I don’t feel like either. I’m—not doing a great job of explaining this,” you sigh, stuffing your hands in your pockets. Why didn’t you rehearse more? “But basically, I don’t fit into the ‘regular’ gender spectrum.” Here you make air-quotes with your fingers. “I’m nonbinary, agender more specifically, which means I’m not really a boy nor a girl. So, um… you should stop thinking of me as a girl.”

 

You finally resume eye contact with Kip, although he’s giving nothing away behind those sharply rectangular glasses.

 

“Is that all?” he asks eventually.

 

Is that all. Is that all?

 

You want to yell. He has the gall to undermine you like that? You clench your jaw, considering the best ways to shove his words back down his throat, but Molly beats you to it.

 

“Is that all, Kipland Kaizer?” she barks. You’ve only seen a few times where Molly actually looks scary, but this has to be one of them. “That’s what you have to say?”

 

She raises a hand, and Kip flinches, apparently realizing he has a solid second and a half to live unless he considers his next words very carefully. “That’s—that’s not what I meant. That sounded wrong. I didn’t mean to make it sound unimportant.”

 

Molly narrows all four eyes at him and lowers her hand. Kip might live another day.

 

“It’s just…” He tugs awkwardly at a sleeve. “When you both came to me looking so serious, I thought it was going to be bad news. I’m just relieved it was this, and not…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jeez. When I asked you if that was all, I only wondered if this was all your news. But—yeah. It’s big news alone. I’m sorry if I offended you,” Kip says.

 

His apology is sincere, so you let the anger melt away. “Okay.”

 

“Thank you for trusting me with this. I’m sure this wasn’t easy.”

 

Damn right it wasn’t. “Yeah,” you agree, a nervous smile beginning to break the corners of your lips. You instruct him on the pronoun change, and it goes off without a hitch this time.

 

A little bit later, after Molly leaves and you’re both getting ready to leave, he stops you with a hand on your arm.

 

“Hey, so…”

 

Your eyes flick toward him, but most of your nervousness disappears when you see how shy he appears. “Hm?”

 

“I didn’t get the chance to say anything earlier, but um, seems fair that I tell you I’m gay.” A flush is crawling across his cheeks. You watch it, incredulous. “Anyway, I know it’s not the same as gender identity and such, but still. If you want to talk to anyone about it…”

 

Kip moves his hand away, self-consciously frowning at the ground. He looks up when your hand falls onto his shoulder.

 

“I get it. Thanks, man,” you say with a smile. Even if neither of you are sure about the offer, the sentiment still means something.

 

Kip returns the smile. “Glad we cleared that up.”

 

“Yeah, I was just about ready to beat you up,” you tease.

 

“Oh, please.” Kip rolls his eyes, even though you both know you can do it. Both of you lack an equal amount of muscle, but you have a solid four inches on him. “Pick on someone your own size. Unless you want to fight Molly.”

 

You raise your hands in a placating gesture. “Hell no! She’d smash me to pieces.”

 

“She’d smash both of us to pieces,” Kip corrects.

 

You level a glance at him, trying to remain properly somber while you nod.

 

You can’t. A laugh escapes from you, then a snort, and then you’re both laughing wildly. Kip halfway leans on you, swaying with the force of his mirth. You laugh until your stomach hurts, and it feels good.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> At the beginning I refer to dresses and skirts as feminine clothing; however, this is only in the context that most of society views it as feminine clothing. I do believe clothing should not be exclusively related to gender. 
> 
> Please inform me if I accidentally implied anything offensive. Otherwise, thank you for reading!


End file.
